


Come Go With Me

by campsearchlight



Series: Unforgettable [2]
Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-05-30 15:58:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6430933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/campsearchlight/pseuds/campsearchlight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A few things from Courier's companions' perspectives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

For the first time in a very long time, Boone feels something besides juxtaposing apathy and murderous rage.

He stares at her, stunned. A peculiar ache blooms in the pit of his stomach. The feeling of her lips pressed to his for that fraction of a second is sealed securely into his memory. 

He feels different. 

He feels alive. 

_Shut it down._

"Well," he says, his stomach sinking, "you might just need more practice. Luckily, we'll be seeing the King in a few days, so you can get all that out of your system."

Six turns her face skyward. She agrees with him, says it's a good idea. 

He knows she is lying but doesn't call her out on it. What would be the point? She would get pissed and storm off, so he holds his tongue. For whatever reason, he still wants to be in her company. 

Later, when they separate for the night, he lies awake in bed, staring at the ceiling and wishing the kiss had lasted even a moment longer.


	2. Teamwork

The first time Boone had her, it was the kind of relieved _thank God you're alive_ sex. 

They'd been on the way to Nellis Air Force Base when they were attacked by a group of fiends outside of a small shack by the road. They dispatched the lot of them with ease. With her trusty baseball bat and his near-infallible aim, they were quite the team. 

She'd started looting–which didn't surprise or worry him–but a fiend they'd both thought dead had caught her by the ankle as she jogged past and pulled her down. Jabbed a combat knife in her leg. And, of course, the Courier had immediately yanked out the knife and drove it into the woman's neck. 

Boone had frozen up with shock and anger at himself. He should've seen the subtle rise and fall of the fiend's chest, should've seen the hand move before it caught her. Should've, should've, should've. 

As the fiend gurgled, Boone slung his rifle over his shoulder and ran at the Courier, whose face was contorted in pain as she held her injured leg. He'd fished a stimpak out of his backpack and stuck it directly into the wound, eliciting a hiss from her, and then a sigh. She slumped to the ground, her chest heaving. He assumed her eyes were closed behind her tinted lenses. 

"I should've been more aware," he said, dragging his thumb along the small pink scar on her calf. 

"Not your fault," the Courier assured him. "It was my mistake. I thought she was dead." At that, both of them looked at the knifer. Blood ran from the wound, pooling under her head. Her eyes stared unseeingly at the afternoon sun. She was surely dead now. 

"Let's get you inside," Boone suggested as he straightened. "Can you stand?"

In response, the Courier popped to her feet, only to sag against him with a groan. "It's still sore."

He pulled her arm around his neck and helped her into the shack. There, she sat heavily on the edge of the bed while he locked the door and barricaded it with the bookcase. It was cooler in here, but not enough for them to not be sweating. 

When he turned around, he found her standing, her sunglasses tossed onto the small nightstand. She lurched across the small space, grabbed his face, and kissed him. 

A small–very small, very insignificant–part of him told him, _No, don't do this. Don't complicate things_. The rest of him, however, automatically bowed into the kiss, dragging her hips against his. 

Their clothing couldn't get off fast enough, and then she was lying back on the bed with him between her legs. 

God, if he thought she was loud before, it had nothing on _this_. Nothing on the way she moaned his name: _Boone... Oh, God, Boone_. Nothing on the way they collided again and again, the obscene smack of skin against skin, over and over. 

When both of them were satisfied, she stretched out on the bed, still naked, and went right to sleep. Boone pulled his clothing back on and sat down in the armchair, his head tilted back, his eyes closed. It had been a very long time since he'd been with anyone. 

He glanced over at the Courier, suddenly wishing he knew her real name. 

The second time, it was under similar circumstances. They'd just escaped a swarm of Cazadores. It was also celebratory, but under the light of the moon. She was pressed fully-clothed against the wall of a boarded-up house. He was behind her, carefully pulling her pants and underwear to her knees. She'd ordered him to "hurry the hell up and fuck me already," and he was never one to disobey a direct order from her.

The third time, they had just set up camp for the night, and they shared a look over the campfire. Just a look. No enemies to fight or outrun. No near-death experience. It was just a look. But, the Courier crawled over to him with her pants already somehow off and straddled him.

After the tenth time, though, Boone blissfully lost count.


	3. Chapter 3

Boone has always prided himself on being able to not feel anything, to switch off his emotions at a moment's notice. 

If there was ever a time to not feel anything, it's now–but it's exceedingly difficult. 

Boone towers over the Legionnaire, the bottom of his scuffed boot smashed against the man's chest and the deadly end of his sniper rifle pressed to the man's forehead. The scum stares up at Boone with a look of defiance that makes him want to just blow his scummy head off. At point-blank range, that would likely happen. The mental image makes Boone's mouth curl a fraction into an almost-smile. 

However, Courier’s presence flips the switch into the "off" position.

"Boone, hold on," she says, striding toward the sniper and the piece of shit under his boot. "We might be able to get some information out of him."

"I would die before I tell you anything," the Legionnaire snarls. His eyes dart to the side, where his pistol lies in the dust. 

Courier catches the glance and aims a swift kick at the pistol, sending it zooming yards away. She looks back at the Legionnaire, her eyebrows pulled together over her sunglasses. "Now, now... Let's not do anything stupid. We've already killed all your friends. You really, /honestly/ think you could kill us before we kill you?"

Boone's heart thuds painfully once in his throat before he looks back down at the Legionnaire as well. 

The Legionnaire's mouth clamps shut.

"Cooperation is the only way you're getting out of this alive," Courier informs him.

Boone feels his lip curl back in disgust. "We're letting this thing live?"

"Well, we'll see about that." Courier crouches near the Legionnaire's head. "Tell me the easiest way to get into the Fort without anyone seeing me. I know you know there's a way."

The Legionnaire matches her glare. "You're a fucking idiot if you think that's possible. My brethren would shoot you and your NCR puppet down like the dogs you are."

/Puppet./

Boone feels his switch twitch upward. He has to close his eyes for a moment to compose himself. 

Courier sighs heavily, wiping sweat off her forehead with the back of her glove. She must be tired. Boone knows that she sleeps burdened with nightmares. Boone also knows how that is. His nightmares have different subject matter, he's sure, but the results are essentially the same. 

It's even become a fucked-up routine for them. Fight for sleep. Toss and turn. Wake up with burning eyes and a bad taste in their mouths. Courier carries the strongest coffee in her backpack, a cure for both symptoms of a poor night's sleep–and Boone loves her for it.

"You gonna talk or not?" she asks. "I got other, nastier fish to fry, my man."

He spits at her, but it falls short. It hits the dirt a few inches from her boot and dries up within a few seconds. "I give my life for Caesar." Except, like all the little morons following the monster, he pronounces it /Kaizar/. 

"Bah. I don't have time for this... /And/, I'm willing to bet there are plenty of idiots out there who value their lives more than Caesar's. Boone? Waste him."

As the partners move back to a splatter-free distance, the Legionnaire scrambles for his gun. 

Boone lets him grab it. Even lets him aim it. For half a second, Boone looks, unafraid, into the barrel of the pistol. 

Then, the sniper happily carries out Courier's order.

"Yech." Courier steps over the spray of blood in the dirt and pats down the dead man's pockets. Finding nothing, she goes around to the three other bodies while he keeps watch. Though they're in the middle of the desert with nothing around for at least a mile in each direction, he keeps watch. 

With another sigh, she returns to Boone, offering him a handful of bullets, which he immediately pockets. "They never have anything good. I use ten-mil, and they all have three-oh-eight." She kicks some dirt at the last of them to die. "That's a fucking ten-mil. Just my luck, right?" 

Boone scoffs, though he does admire her practical habit of looting strictly for ammunition. "Good thing I use three-oh-eight, or your pants would fall down, huh?"

Courier lowers her sunglasses to the tip of her nose and grins up at him, making his heart beat painfully again. "Good thing, yeah. Let's hit the road."

Together, they head northeast, toward New Vegas, leaving the Legionnaires to rot in the sun.


	4. Chapter 4

Veronica loves the Courier. Definitely not the same way Boone does, though. Whenever they stop by the Lucky 38, Veronica sees the way he watches the Courier, sees the way the Courier watches him. It's adorable, really, even though Boone's and the Courier's hawk-eyes are almost always hidden behind sunglasses. Veronica just _knows_ they've done it behind closed doors. 

A strange warmth floods Veronica as she thinks that it's probably happened outside of doors, too. 

_Ding_. 

Veronica nearly trips over Rex to get out into the hall, where Victor stands guard by the elevator. The elevator doors open, and Ed-E floats out, followed by the Courier and Boone. Veronica studies them closely, trying to discern if they've had sex within the past twelve hours. The Lucky 38 doesn't have much by way of entertainment, so that's how she entertains herself whenever they come back: guessing if the short-statured, amnesiac maniac of a woman and the rock-solid, six-foot-tall ex-soldier had sex– _with each other_ –and when. 

It isn't evident when they step in. 

"Howdy!" Victor greets, the graphic of the cowboy on his facial screen smiling as it usually does.

"Hey, Victor. Hey, Veronica," the Courier says, pulling her shades off her face and hooking them in the collar of her shirt. "How's everything?"

Veronica stares a moment too long before saying, "Oh, everything's fine. Taught Rex a new trick. He now knows how to lie on his _other_ side."

Victor gives a genuine-sounding laugh. 

The Courier cracks a grin as she stoops to scratch the fur at the edge of Rex's brain dome. Boone does not show any kind of emotion, which Veronica isn't the least surprised to see. 

"Good to hear," the Courier says. She looks around as her other ragtag companions–Arcade, Rex, and Cass–fill up the space. "How's everything, guys?"

Arcade regards her with a cool expression, his arms folded neatly over his lab coat. "We should ask you that. You've been gone nearly two weeks."

"Oh." The Courier's cheeks turn red, grinning embarrassedly. "Sorry about that. Easy to lose track of time out there."

Arcade looks pointedly at her Pip-Boy but doesn't say anything. 

Cass scoffs and says what Arcade was obviously thinking: "You got a clock and a calendar on that piece of junk on your arm, Six."

The Courier levels a hard gaze on the former caravan merchant. "I don't have time to check the time when I'm being chased by a Deathclaw, Cass."

"Or, when you're fucking the sniper, apparently."

Veronica feels her eyes go as wide as they can. Her blood rushes in anticipation of a fistfight. 

Boone's upper lip twitches. 

The Courier stares at Cass for a good while before her face breaks out in a grin. "I love you so very dearly, Rose of Sharon Cassidy. You know that, right?"

Cass rolls her eyes, probably at the use of her full name. "I bet you do. So, what'd you bring us?"

They all follow the Courier into the kitchen, where she throws her bag down on the table. She scoops out all kinds of junk food: Sugar Bombs, Cram, BlamCo Mac and Cheese, gum drops. Veronica swoons over a box of potato crisps. 

"Dig in, guys," the Courier says, punctuating with a yawn. "I need a nap."

"Will Boone be joining you?" Cass asks, eyeing the sniper, who leans against the threshold with his arm crossed. 

"Shut your face," the Courier says. She squeezes past Boone and disappears into her bedroom. 

Veronica watches, curious, from the corner of her eye as Boone follows her. 

Cass snorts. "They fuck like rabbits."

"My goodness," Arcade mutters, dropping into one of the chairs around the table. Shaking his head, he grabs a can of Cram and a stray spoon. 

Veronica looks at Cass. "Huh?"

"Don't tell me you don't know," Cass says. " _Please_ don't tell me you don't know about them."

"I mean, that's none of my–" Veronica is cut off by the sound of a moan coming from the master bedroom. Her ears must be red as a rocket, but she's thankful her hood covers them. "–business."

Cass laughs, taking a seat next to Arcade and kicking her boots up onto the edge of the table. "Listen, kid. They decide to fuck right next door to us, it becomes our business." She pauses as a mattress begins to squeal. The Courier shouts. Half of Cass's mouth lifts as she cocks her ear toward the sound. "Sounds like fun, though."

"Could we maybe not talk about it?" Arcade asks, digging his spoon into the processed meat food. "Let's play cards. Where are the cards?"

"I think they're in the living room. I'll get 'em," Veronica volunteers. She passes by the Courier's bedroom on the way to the living room, and she can't help but pause outside the door. She hears Boone grunt repeatedly, in time with the Courier's moans and the creak of the mattress. Veronica hurries to the living room, passing Victor, who thankfully doesn't acknowledge her presence. She grabs the worn deck of cards and rushes back to the kitchen. 

Arcade has his sleeves rolled up, his elbows leaned against the edge of the table and his fingers laced together. He glares hard at Cass. "Veronica was right. That's none of our business."

Veronica feels like she's stumbled upon yet another argument. She considers backing slowly out of the room. 

"Let's ask the mole rat," Cass says, turning her attention to the scribe. "What do you think about their... relations?" A tame word. Unfitting coming out of Cass's mouth. 

"Arcade was right about me being right" is all Veronica says as she sits across from Arcade. She passes the deck to him, and he begins shuffling, his pale eyebrows angled together over the rims of his glasses. 

"You guys act so innocent, so morally pure. It's annoying as hell." Cass grabs a bottle of whiskey–her own brew–and takes a big gulp. "I'm just curious, is all. Aren't you two curious?"

Veronica and Arcade share a look. Arcade shrugs. Veronica also shrugs. 

"Ahh," Cass groans. "I'm getting tired of being holed up here with you two and the robo-dog."

"Hey, Rex didn't do anything to you," Veronica says. 

"Alright, just you, Bore-onica, and Bore-cade."

"Clever," Arcade says with a roll of his eyes. He begins dealing out the cards for poker. 

Veronica doesn't feel like playing, not when Cass is being an ass–a.k.a. _all the time_ –and while the Courier and Boone are going at it like animals right next door. She plays anyway, focusing too hard on her cards. 

After what seems like forever, Boone rejoins the group. He takes the seat next to Arcade. 

Arcade seamlessly deals him in, saying, "We're playing poker."

Boone nods once, reaching into the pocket of his cargo pants for his cigarettes. He places one between his lips and lights it as he studies his cards. 

"How was the sex?" Cass asks him. "I'm guessing it was good. She seems like she'd be wild in the sack."

Veronica chokes, her ears burning again. 

Boone turns his face to look at Cass from behind his shades. "It was pretty good. Thanks for asking."

Cass grins salaciously at him in response. "Any idea who's going with her to the Fort yet?"

"She won't tell me who she wants to take," he replies. 

"It's probably me," Arcade jokes. "I'm the toughest out of the four of us, as we all know."

Veronica chuckles. 

Cass laughs. "Yeah, Arcade, definitely gonna be you."

Boone shakes his head, rearranging his cards. "I don't think it's going to be me, though."

Veronica looks at him. "What makes you say that?"

His upper lip curls slightly. "I wouldn't be able to control myself."

She wants to ask why he thinks that, but she refrains. Asking Boone too many questions isn't good for your health. 

"Who do you think she'll ask, though?" Cass inquires, raising an eyebrow at the sniper. She obviously isn't concerned for her health. 

"Honestly?" Boone shrugs. "Probably Veronica."

Veronica's eyes fly wide open. "M-me?"

"I can see that. You got a mean punch, girl," Cass says, nodding. "But, I'd think the Courier'd want a ranged fighter with her. Y'know. Since she goes hard as hell with that baseball bat. In that case..." She appraises Arcade with a quick once-over, during which he purses his lips at her. "Well, I think I'd be the best option."

"If she took Veronica, she _could_ take Ed-E as well," Arcade suggests. "That metal ball is ranged."

"Humph." 

"That'd be a decent combination–for any other mission," Boone remarks. "Ed-E would be noticeable."

"Well, whatever she decides, I'm sure it'll be fine," Veronica says. Inside, though, she thrills. The Courier is honest-to-God _considering_ her for such an important mission. If she ends up getting chosen, she'll show the Courier just how mean a punch she can pack. 

"I'm sure she'll choose you," Cass says, but Veronica catches the dubious look she throws Arcade's way. Arcade ignores her. 

Veronica half-frowns, angling her face down to look at her cards. Maybe there's a way to prove herself beforehand. Maybe she can convince the Courier to take her next time she rolls out. 

Despite Boone thinking he won't get picked, Veronica sincerely doubts she'll get a chance.


End file.
